


Dawn-Gifts

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: At dawn, Mulder reflects on fleeting time.





	Dawn-Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Dawn-Gifts by Perelandra

28 October 1998  
TITLE: Dawn-Gifts  
AUTHOR: Perelandra ()  
RATING: NC-17 (sexual situations)  
CATEGORY: V/R/A, Slash  
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Krycek  
SPOILERS: The Red and the Black, Tunguska  
SUMMARY: At dawn, Mulder reflects on fleeting time.  
DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" and all "The X-Files" related characters and situations are the intellectual property of the FOX network, Chris Carter, and 1013 Productions. Lyrics from "Half-Gifts" are the property of the Cocteau Twins, Capitol Records and Bella Union. This story is not intended to infringe on the above copyright in any way, and is for entertainment purposes only.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This has definitely been a week of firsts for me! Yes, this is my first attempt at slash, so be gentle. :) Thanks to Te and Frogdoggie for previewing this and settling my nervousness about posting. :) A note about the title: This story came to me at dawn, as I had pulled another fanfic all-nighter, and started this story just as sunlight started to peek through my windows. Watch the sunrise more often, folks. It's definitely a transcendent experience. :)  
FEEDBACK IS THE FOOD OF LIFE...PLEASE FEED A HUNGRY WRITER! Please direct all feedback to .

* * *

It's an old game, my love  
When you can't have me you want me because you know  
that you're not risking anything  
Intimacy's when we're in the same place at the same time  
Dealing lovelessly with how we feel and who we really are  
That's what grownups do  
That is mature thinking

Well I'm still a junkie for it  
It takes me out of my aloneness  
But this relationship cannot sustain itself

I just have to know how to be  
In the process of creating things in a better way  
And it hurts but it's a lie that I can't handle it  
I still have a world of me-ness to fulfill  
I still have a life  
and it's a rich one even with mourning  
Even with grief and sadness...

                        -- cocteau twins, "half-gifts"

***********

I sit here, when I cannot sleep, at our window, gazing out on an ever-changing landscape; sometimes urban, sometimes desert. Sometimes lush Northwestern green. The pinks and oranges of the sunrise spread through the sky as the long night ends and I wait for the fall of day.

Every morning, the wanton memories of nights past seem to be washed clean by each growing dawn. I sit and let the heat of the morning burn away thoughts, feelings, sensations that have left their imprint on my traitorous body throughout each night with you.

It's a coping mechanism.

For I know this cannot last.

I watch you through the light of the rising sun, and think to myself,

When will be the last time?

There must be; for as much as I relish the golden dawn spreading on your naked skin, the muscled back of a lover, I know this cannot last. As much as I love to lose myself in your strong body, hardened by time and strife, that quivers beneath me as we move in the throes of passion... As much as I drink the sensations of you, muscles and hair and roughness losing their boundaries as we slowly melt into each other, becoming each other, the wicked leading the evil into oblivion... 

As much as I am addicted to you, a fiend for the rough touch of your stubbled chin against mine, a junkie for the glory of you, your music as we sigh in unison, our motions strong and forceful against stained sheets, I know in my mind, my heart, my soul that this cannot last.

I feel it now, even as I pour myself back into our bed, my lips finding your ear to breathe waking into you like a robin's song.

"Alex."

I feel it like a chill at the back of my mind even as the familiar warmness fills my body when you open your eyes and turn to me. A chill I try to banish away with the most fleeting of kisses on your angelic face. A feeling of wrongness I try to wash away as I tongue-bathe your mouth, your chin, the lump on your throat. A feeling of self-betrayal I try to wring out of me as my strong arms grip you lower and lower as I work my way down your exquisite chest and take you into my mouth. 

All thought ceases and the universe becomes sensation as I fill myself with the hard evidence of your need. My mind stops working as my tangible universe condenses into you, your gentle thrusts into me as I work you over with my tongue. 

"Mulder..." 

Your moans, your nighttime melodies, sound different to me in the glowing dawn as they reach me from a place far away, penetrating to my consciousness through a thick cloud of lust. 

One more time, baby, one more time.

I can feel the detonations as you find your release.

The bitter, salt taste of your release in my mouth brings me back to the painful light of the growing day, personifying the bitter hopelessness of these dawn-gifts. This cannot last, I tell myself. There must be a last time.

For you are my enemy, my demon lover that I must repulse by the light of day; as by nighttime you are my exquisite golden boy, my dark angel, my obsession. It is the truth; a part of the truth I feel like dark velvet inside. I knew it when you raked your eyes over me in a cold, dark cell in Tunguska. I knew it in the rough touch of your lips as you held me at gunpoint in my apartment. I knew it in your first kiss, the first thrust of your tongue into me.

You are the killer, the destroyer of those I hold most dear, the trumpet signaling the crumbling walls of my universe. 

You are my Judas, my brother in darkness, a victim of the plots, the circumstances through which we have been brought together and driven apart. A victim as well as the guilty.

You are my enemy, and I must hate you for it.

The thought fills me with urgency, with desperation as I frantically run my hand up your supremely muscled thighs, our breathing quickening in tandem as I prepare you with slick hands for my dive into your wonderful, traitorous body. I know the truth, feel it as I drive into you again and again, holding you prisoner beneath me as our hearts drum a terrible rhythm, rubbing you raw with the force of my desperation. The shock of my release shudders through both our bodies; and as I come down, I lay heavily against you, tracing your sculpted features with my fingers. 

You are my traitorous lover, my wonderful dawn-gift.

You are my exquisite enemy; and I know as the dawn blazes away the forbidden memories of these nights and fades away into shades of dusk, and the cloak-and-dagger mysteries begin to consume our lives, I know that I will have to hate you as I hate no other. I will have to vindicate all the lives you have burned and destroyed. 

I will have to kill you, my angel.

But for now, as the pink dawn grows into gold through the silken sheen of the window shade, I content myself to hold you, to feel you beneath me, to love you as I love no other.

For this may be the last time.

\----------------------------------

THE END!  
"Dawn-Gifts" (1/1)   
by Perelandra ()


End file.
